


No Point Anymore

by PositivelyPrimeval



Series: Tale as Old as Time [2]
Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:33:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26978152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PositivelyPrimeval/pseuds/PositivelyPrimeval
Summary: Beast is in his last year of the enchantment and has lost all hope.Maurice has gone off to seek his fortune at an invention fair, but doesn’t come home. Belle goes in search for him, but finds more than she bargained for.Entering the beginning of the movie with extended and unique scenes abound.
Relationships: Beast/Belle (Disney)
Series: Tale as Old as Time [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1475357
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

Summer passed without event. Belle was used to the mundane routine of her country home, nothing but a couple of fairs, a marriage, or a new baby to break up the days. With every passing day though, she ached for something to happen, for somewhere to go.

Now eighteen, Belle should have been on at least one adventure by now. Once or twice, she even toyed with the idea of going into the forest just to have something happen. But to go in alone would be exceednly foolish, and Belle was no fool.

So she wandered through the days as she had before, walking through town, managing chores at home, getting books from the kindly bookseller. As the cool breeze of autumn began to chase away the warm summer days, she began to prepare for winter, canning fruits and vegetables from her small garden, drying meats, storing potatoes in the root cellar.

Her only true joys were her books and her father. He loved the peace of their world and the time it afforded him to work on his inventions. And Belle loved seeing him so happy. So she tried to be content.

One crisp day in late fall, when the trees had changed color and many were bare of leaves altogether, Belle decided to take a break from canning and exchange her book for a new one. The bookshop was due for a new shipment any day now, and she was aching for something new to read. Usually only four of five books came at a time on the merchant’s way to bigger towns, but it was better than nothing.

Belle left the house, the echoes of Papa’s work in the cellar fading away as she crossed the bridge. It was a picture perfect autumn day, the likes of which she never remembered seeing in Paris. As much as she wanted adventure, wanted something exciting to happen, she had to admit that the village was at least comfortable.

She entered town, watching people go about their businesses as they had every day. Belle watched as the baker returned to his shop, refilling his tray with bread to sell.

“Good morning, Belle!” the baker called as she approached, his warm booming voice clearly audible above the chatter in town.

“Good morning, monsieur,” she replied merrily. The baker was one of the first people she ever met in the village; and he was one of the few who was infallibly kind to her.

“Where are you off to today?” he asked as he waited for his wife to take fresh rolls out of the massive oven inside the shop.

“The bookshop. I just finished the most wonderful story about a beanstalk and an ogre—“ she began, but the baker was growing impatient for his bread.

“That’s nice,” he said, distracted. “Marie, the baguettes! Hurry up, woman!”

“I’m coming, you cross old man. Keep your trousers on!” Marie called from inside.

Belle shrugged and replaced the book she had been showing to the baker back in her basket. He was obviously busy, and she knew he didn’t want to hear about her stories anyway. He would listen out of kindness, but his eyes would always glaze over just a little when she spoke.

She continued on, her thoughts on the book she had finished. It was a familiar tale of a boy who sold some magic beans and ended up battling an ogre from the sky. What she wouldn’t give for some magic beans. She would climb that beanstalk in a second, even knowing a horrible ogre awaited her at the top.

The people who bustled around her surely imagined such things, never mind wished for them. Belle grinned as she pictured their shocked faces as the ogre from her book stomped its way through town.

There must be more than this provincial life, she though to herself as her daydream faded and the bookstore stood before her.

The familiar tinkling bell at the door greeted her and alerted the bookseller to her arrival

“Ah, Belle, there you are my dear. I was wondering if you’d come today,” he said as he replaced a book on one of the shelves.

“Good morning, sir. I’ve come to return the book I borrowed,” she said handing the volume to him and immediately began searching the shelves for another.

“Finished already, eh?

“I couldn’t put it down,” she replied. “Have you got anything new?”

“Not since you checked yesterday,” he said and she did not miss the chuckle in his voice.

“That’s all right,” she said, turning briefly to smile at him, acknowledging her overeagerness, before climbing the small ladder of the tallest bookcase. “I’ll borrow this one instead.” She reached down to hand him a book bound in blue cloth so he might make note of the title.

“That one? But you’ve read it twice!” he protested.

“Oh, but it’s my favorite!” she couldn’t help but exclaim. “Far off places, daring sword fights, magic spells, a prince in disguise!” she rattle off, rolling along the bookcase on the ladder, carried away by the very idea of rereading the story.

“Well, if you like it all the much, it’s yours,” the bookkeeper said, handing her back the book.

“But, sir—“ she protested. He had never given her one of his books before. She had earned the right to borrow them from him, but never had he given any inclination that she might actually get to keep one of them.

“I insist,” he said putting a hand up to stop her protests. “You had a birthday not too long ago if I remember right. And besides, the binding’s getting loose from someone always borrowing it,” he teased.

Belle grinned, excited at the prospect of her first new book to own in years.

“Thank you! Thank you very much!” she exclaimed, unable to refuse his offer. He laughed and shooed her out; Belle barely had a foot out the door before she was in its pages once again.

She knew the town layout by heart now, so she was easily able to navigate through its streets as she read. Before long though, she reached a particularly exciting part of the book and had to concentrate, taking a seat on the edge of the fountain in the town square to do so.

A wet nose nudged at her elbow and she found a sheep had come over to say hello as she read.

“Isn’t this amazing?” she asked the docile animal, showing it the book. “It’s my favorite part. Look, here’s where she meets Prince Charming,” she said, tilting the book more so the sheep might see the words, pretending she was showing an interested friend.

In her mind’s eye she could see the scene painted out for her, a young girl shyly hiding from a young man in a beautiful field, a castle rising in the background.

“But she won’t discover that it’s him till chapter three,” she added and ruffled through the pages to find the spot she spoke about, eager to read the second interaction of the young lovers.

She was vaguelly aware that the sheep had moved on with their shepard and that she should do the same; she had chores to complete, after all. But that wouldn’t stop her from making her way through her book.

She looked up from her story a few times to complete her transactions and once to speak breifly with Sophia. Neither of them had spoken much since Gaston banned Belle from spending time at Sophia’s house, but they remained civil with each other.

“At it again, are you?” Sophia asked as Belle approached her in the market.

“Always,” she said with a smile and put down her book and her basket to talk. “How have you been?”

“Just fine. The children are growing up so fast, they make me frantic,” she sighed, but she smiled as she did so. Belle knew how much Sophia loved her family.

“Make sure to tell them I said hello.”

“I will. Best be on your way now, though.” Sophia bent to retrieve Belle’s basket for her. “I’m sure your father will be hungry for lunch.”

“Thank you,” she said as she took the basket and continued on her way. Their conversations were always short and strained now; they had never been the best of friends, but Belle did miss being able to chat with someone her own age.

Belle made her way through the last of the crowds in the village and through another chapter of her book. She just took a breath of relief that she had been able to avoid Gaston, when his booming voice came up from behind her.

“Bonjour, Belle!”

“Bonjour, Gaston,” she replied as pleasantly as possible, keeping her eyes on her book and her feet moving. Perhaps she could skirt away from him if she just kept moving. But no, he snatched the book out of her hands and stepped in her path.

“Gaston, may I have my book, please? she asked, trying to keep her temper.

“How can you read this?” he sneered, thumbing through the pages and tilting the book from side to side as if to make sense of it. “There’s no pictures.”

Belle suppressed the urge to snatch her book back and merely crossed her arms, amazed as always at Gaston’s disgust when it came to her books.

“Well, some people use their imaginations,” she replied and reached for her book as calmly as she could.

“Belle, you’ve been here two whole years now. It’s about time you get your head out of these books and start paying attention to more important things,” he said, tossing her book aside. Belle flinched as it landed in a mud puddle and went to retrieve it, but Gaston moved to block her.

“Hint, hint,” Lefou, never far from Gaston’s side, said to her, pointing up at Gaston as he struck some sort of ridiculous pose. Apparently she was meant to finish Gaston’s thought.

“Like you?” she said flatly.

“Exactly!” Gaston exclaimed with a wide, cocky grin. “The whole town’s talking about it. It’s not right for a woman to read. Soon she starts getting ideas and...thinking!”

“Gaston, you are positively primeval,” she sighed as she retreived her book from the mud. Using a corner of her apron, she wiped off the worst of it. Her brand new book and it was already a mess. At least she didn’t have to worry about returning it to the bookseller.

“Why, thank you Belle,” Gaston replied and Belle felt her eyes widen in shock. Gaston’s ignorance was astonishing.

His heavy arm fell across her shoulders and he began to lead her back to town.

“What do you say we take a walk over to the tavern and take a look at my trophies?”

“Maybe some other time,” she said, wishing she could slip out of Gaston’s grasp.

“Come on, Belle. I think I know how you feel about me. Don’t try to deny it.”

“You can’t even imagine,” she replied, hearing the sarcasm leak through her voice, but apparently Gaston was deaf to it.

“Please, Gaston,” she said, managing to duck out from under his arm. “I have to get home to help my father.”

“That crazy old fool!” Lefou exclaimed as she left. “He needs all the help he can get!”

Belle whirled around, fury surging through her.

“Don’t talk about my father that way!” she demanded. She knew people said things about her father, about her, but not to her face.

“Yeah, don’t talk about her father that way!” Gaston said, thunking Lefou on the head as he spoke. His words would have been somewhat admirable if it weren’t for the fact he had been laughing right along with Lefou a moment before.

“My father’s not crazy, he’s a genius. An you—“

An explosion stopped Belle’s angry words and she whirled around to see a great puff of smoke billowing from the cellar doors of her house.

“Papa!” she cried and left Lefou and Gaston laughing behind her.


	2. Chapter 2

She reached the cellar doors quickly and yanked them open. Immediately she was met with a face full of smoke from the explosion that had sent Gaston and Lefou into a fit of laughter. She coughed and waved the smoke away before descending the cellar steps.

“Papa?” she called. As the smoke cleared through the open doors, she could see Papa brushing off some bits of rubble from his clothes. “Are you all right, Papa?” she asked, reaching to brush some rubble from his snow white hair.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. But I can’t for the life of me figure out what happened. This is the stubbornness piece of...” Papa kicked his machine, howled in pain, and spent several moments hopping on one foot. “I’m about to give up on this hunk of junk!” he said, regaining his footing

“You always say that,” Belle giggled. Every machine she can remember her father working on was accompanied by that same phrase without fail.

“I meant it this time! I’ll never get this bone-headed contraption to work!”

“Yes, you will. And you’ll win first prize at the fair tomorrow,” she assured him, coming behind him and putting her hands on his shoulders, bending down to do so.

“Hmph!” Papa grunted.

“And become a world-famous inventor,” she added.

“You really believe that?”

“I always have, Papa,” she said and kissed his cheek. He smiled and hopped back into life.

“Well, what are we waiting for? This thing’s not going to fix itself. Hand me that dog-legged clencher,” he asked as he climbed back down under his machine. Belle handed him the tool he asked for.

“Did you have a good time in town today?” he asked, his voice muffled from under the machine.

“I got a new book,” she said, plucking the artifact from her basket and brushed off a few bits of dried mud from the cover.

“You do love those books,” Papa said and she could hear the smile in his voice.

Gaston’s words of just a few minutes ago came back to her as she looked fondly at her book. Was he right? Should she start looking at something else besides her beloved books? She had no desire to, but she was eighteen now. Perhaps it was time for her to find another path. She couldn’t go on her adventures and she didn’t intend to marry, especially not if her only option was Gaston, but she couldn’t very well but read books and do chores for the rest of her days.

“Papa, do you think I’m odd?” she asked finally, knowing he wouldn’t lie to her.

“My daughter, odd?” he demanded, emerging from underneath the machine with her favorite pair of magnified glasses on, making his eyes seem three times their normal size. “Where’d you get an idea like that?” he continued, pushing up the magnification glasses as he spoke.

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s just, I don’t think I really fit in here. There’s no one I can really talk to.”

“What about that Gaston?” Papa asked as he crawled back under the machine. “He’s a handsome fellow.”

“He’s handsome all right. And rude, and conceited...” she trailed off as Papa chuckled and she realized too late that he had been teasing her. He knew very well how she felt about Gaston.

“I suppose I’m just tired of people talking about me instead of to me,” she sighed.

“They talk about me, too,” her father said, emerging yet again from under the machine to sit beside her, wiping his hands on a rag.

“I know, Papa,” she said. she hated that the townspeaople called her father crazy. Couldn’t they see how brilliant he was?

“You’re not odd, my Belle. You are unique, a cut above these boring ol’ peasants,” he said with a dismissive wave towards town.

“Papa,” she protested.

“It’s true! No matter what they say, you are your mother’s daughter so therefore you are class.”

“Thank you, Papa,” she replied, caught off-guard at the mention of her mother. Papa rarely talked about her; Belle always thought it was because it was too painful to bring up because they had loved each other so much.

“Maman would be so proud of you. I know I am. And I don’t mean to seem ungrateful to be here, it just gets so lonely sometimes,” she confessed.

“Well, don’t you worry,” he said, gently brushing her cheek with a knowing smile. “We’ve come this far already. And I’ve got a feeling this invention’s going to be the start of a new life for us.”

Belle smiled as Papa went to make a few more adjustments on the chopping machine. Nothing could keep him down for long. And maybe he was right, perhaps this invention of his would open up a new path for them both.

“Now, I think that’s done it,” he declared several minutes later. “Let’s give it a try.”

Papa pulled a lever and the machine whirred into life, steam rising through coils, turning gears and making her old cracked teapot on top of the machine sing. The axe at the front of the machine fell once, twice, and then started chopping with ease. The log placed under the blade split in two and the halves launched neatly into the air to fall onto the waiting stack of logs.

“It works!” she exclaimed, almost not believe her own eyes. Papa had spent such a long time on this machine, she wasn’t sure he would be able to finish it in time for the fair despite her confident words.

“It does?” he said, his own doubt clear. But as another log flew over their heads, his face brightened. “It does!”

“You did it! You really did it!” she cheered, embracing her father.

“Hitch up Philippe, girl! I’m off to the fair!”

“Now?” He wasn’t supposed to leave till tomorrow.

“Now,” he confirmed. “I’ll get there tonight and be ready first thing to set up and scope out the competition.”

“All right, Papa,” she relented. “Get the ramp ready and we’ll pull this thing out of here.”

Belle left to get Philippe ready to pull the machine up the ramp her father was setting up. It took almost an hour of persistent coaxing and pulling, but they eventually got the machine out of the cellar and loaded onto the cart. Belle saddled Philippe while Papa secured the machine, and then he was ready to go.

There was only half a day of light left, which made Belle a little nervous, but the fair wasn’t far and Papa was eager to be off.

“Goodbye, Papa!” she called as he rode off. “Good luck!”

“Goodbye, Belle!” he called back, turning in the saddle to wave at her from beneath the brim of his hat. “Take care while I’m gone!”

Belle watched until she could no longer see him beyond the hill that bend the road. She wanted to believe that Papa would win the contest and take them both away from this village, but she had gotten her hopes up before. She knew his invention was genius, but would the judges see it?

All she could ask for was Papa’s safe return as she went inside to start her lonely midday meal.


	3. Chapter 3

Belle banked the fire and took her last cup of tea and a candle up to her room, her book tucked under her arm. She had done her best to clean the mud from its pages, and it had come out better than expected, but it was still stained in places. If only she had been a little bit quicker she might have been able to dodge Gaston altogether that morning.

She sighed and tried to put Gaston out of her mind, determined not to let him ruin her evening. Instead, she turned her mind to her father and hoped he had reached an inn before that terrible downpour had hit him. When she went out to check on the animals, she was blown about in every which direction and soaked to the bone in moments. It had blown away now, but hopefully not towards her father.

Belle kicked off her slippers and climbed into bed, the sky out her window showing no sign of the storm that had ravaged them less than an hour ago, stars twinkling innocently. Turning so the light of the candle better illuminated the pages of her book, Belle began to drift to sleep as she read, the familiar tale helping her relax. The book drooped once, twice, then fell to the floor with a soft thud, it’s owner well within sleep’s grasp.

“Papa!” she cried, lurching back into consciousness. Judging by the low, barely-flickering candle, she had been asleep for perhaps a couple of hours before a nightmare threw her back into the world of the waking. She couldn’t quite recall what it had been about, even as she fought to catch her breath from it, but she was certain it had something to do with her father, something not very nice.

“Don’t be silly,” she scolded herself, trying to shake the dream out of her mind. “Papa’s fine.”

She retrieved her book where it had fallen on the floor and put it on her night stand, blowing out the remnants of the candle as she did.

“He’s fine,” she said again, though the pit of dread in her stomach refused to let her believe her own words.

——

He had been climbing among the rooftops when he heard the long howls of a wolf pack in the forest. They were on the hunt, but there was no way to tell whether they pursued man or animal. Either way, it was none of his concern, although it was odd they were so active so early in the year. Winter was on its way, but usually wolves weren’t heard from until at least the first snow.

It began to drizzle, little raindrops peppering his fur, and Beast could tell that a storm was not long off. Not in the mood to get his fur wet, Beast made his way back to the balcony of the West Wing.

His paws landed on the smooth stone with hardly a sound, and not a moment later the rain began to pour down in sheets. He shook the dampness out of his fur and stepped past the rose, but froze. Something was different.

He checked the rose, but the small puddle of petals had not changed since he went outside. There was something else, a new smell, perhaps. He couldn’t be sure, so he went to investigate.

The moment he left the West Wing, he heard the sound of a man’s voice coming from the entrance hall. Someone was in his castle! He stalked downstairs in anger, intent on finding out who this stranger was and how he came to be there, preferably without revealing himself until absolutely necessary.

Beast reached the gallery hallway that looked down upon the entrance hall, able to observe the events below while he was safely hidden in the shadows above. There he held his ground as he watched an old man wander around the entrance hall, calling for assistance. After a moment, Lumiere, that idiot candlestick, revealed himself and led the old man to the sitting room, his sitting room.

The feeling of betrayal flowed through his veins like poison, enraging him. How could his servants let this stranger into his castle? How dare they give him comfort! At least Cogsworth was doing what little he could to stop them; the others seemed to welcome him with open arms.

Beast stalked downstairs slowly as if he was hunting prey in the woods, but his goal was for silence, not for destruction. He wanted to know why this man came here, what his servants were doing for him that they failed to report the stranger to their Master. It seemed their loyalty had been tried over the years and they no longer felt the need to turn out strangers despite the threat they posed.

Through the closed doors of his sitting room, Beast listened as the man settled into his chair and was served tea. They were making him welcome, making him comfortable, and it infuriated him. The fur on the back of his neck stood on end as his anger surged through him. Something had to be done.

Without another thought, Beast burst through the door with such force it blew the fire down to coals. The servants began to quiver as one, but it was the terrified shivering of the stranger that Beast focused on. He growled as he stalked into the room, the unfamiliar smell of human stinging his nostrils as he grew closer.

“There’s a stranger here,” he snarled, making his displeasure clear to his traiterous servants. Lumiere began to spout some excuses, but there was no excuse for this man’s intrusion. Beast roared for silence, inadvertently blowing out Lumiere’s candles as he did. Cogsworth then began to stammer something as he hid under the carpet, but another roar silenced him as well.

Beast bent over the side of the chair to take a good look at the man who had intruded on his sanctuary.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” he demanded, his pulse racing in his fury as he followed the man out of the chair and across the room.

“I—I was lost in the woods and...”

“You are not welcome here!” Beast interrupted.

“I—I’m sorry,” he stammered and Beast noticed how the old man was staring at him, wide-eyed in fear, yes, but there was something else.

“Hideous, isn’t it?” Beast growled, standing tall for the man to see him fully.

“I wasn’t—I mean I didn’t—“

“You’ve come to stare at the beast, haven’t you?”

The man bolted for the door, but Beast easily intercepted him.

“Please, I meant no harm! I just needed a place to stay,” the man pleaded.

“I’ll give you a place to stay,” Beast growled and lifted the man by his collar to drag him through the castle.

Perhaps it was the intrusion of a human after so many years, the disappointment of it not being someone who would break the spell, or the sense of betrayal he felt from his servants who so willingly let this stranger in. Perhaps he truly was turning into nothing but a beast.

Whatever it was, it allowed him to drag the stranger through the halls of the castle and up into the tower dungeon. He felt the man struggle against his paw, but there was nothing he could do against Beast’s strength.

The dungeon had gone unused for years, the last occupant being one of the servants who defied the human child he once was. The servant spent three days in a cell before being banished for denying him more sweets when ordered to fetch them. Little did that servant know that he was one of the lucky ones to have escaped the enchantment.

Beast jerked open one of the cell doors, its rusting hinges protesting as he did, and threw the man unceremoniously inside.

“No, please!” the man cried again, but Beast took no heed. He slammed the door in the man’s face and locked it, fumbling with the tiny key in his large paw. As he hung the ring of keys on a peg by the door, a few of the servants appeared at the top of the staircase.

“Please, Master,” Lumiere begged. “You cannot do this.”

“Can’t I?” he retorted with a snarl. “This man trespassed on my castle. And you let him. I should lock you up along with him!”

“Please, at least give him a little light,” Mrs. Potts protested. “A man can go mad alone in the darkness.”

Beast was about to point out that he spent almost ten years alone in the dark, but he knew Mrs. Potts was right. Without a word, Beast snatched up Lumiere in one paw and held the flame of one of his arms up to the torch waiting in its sconce in the center of the room. He put Lumiere back down, the new light throwing sharp shadows on the walls as he did.

“No one gives him any aid,” Beast ordered before sweeping back down the stairs, the man’s cries echoing after him.

As he reached the escape of the West Wing once again, it occurred to Beast that he might have overreacted by throwing the man in the dungeon. He should have just tossed the old man out, let him find his way back to wherever he came from in the rain. But perhaps that would have been worse, with the wolves acting as they had been this season.

They had always been a problem, but they seemed more active than usual this year. With autumn barely over, there were still plenty of weeks left for the wolves to only grow in numbers.

But he had committed himself now to the course he had chosen. Beast could not release this man; to do so would show weakness. And even if he did, who’s to say the man wouldn’t come back with someone younger and stronger to rid the castle of the great animal that lived inside?

Then again, he couldn’t keep the man in the dungeon forever, could he? He was an old man, surely he wouldn’t last long, but then his blood would be on Beast’s hands. Beast had never killed a man, though admittedly he had come close once on a particularly dark day. And he certainly found no pleasure in causing the death of a weak old man. So what was he to do?

He paced in front of the table that held the glowing rose in his indecision. What was he to do?

He looked out at the fading storm, wondering what village this man came from, why he was traveling such a dangerous path alone. Perhaps no one would even miss this old man, so what should it matter what happened to him in that cell?

Still, Beast was not able to simply dismiss the man, and he continued to pace.


	4. Chapter 4

Belle still couldn’t shake her worry from the previous night, as silly as it was. Her father was probably proudly showing off his invention, happy as can be. So she tried to push aside her baseless fears and set about on her chores for the morning.

But halfway through she grew too preoccupied by her own foolish thoughts and had to find a better way to distract herself. Of course that meant turning to her books.

She settled into the book she was given by the bookseller, curled up in the wide chair that was perfect for lounging, and it wasn’t long before her mind sank into the story, leaving her own worries behind.

Left to her own devices, Belle devoured page after page until she was nearly three quarters the way through the book. She could have easily kept going, but a knock on the door prevented her.

Belle stood, trying to finish the page before she had to put the book down, but in the end she had to simply press the pages down as she lay the book on the table so she wouldn’t lose her place.

Confused at who would be knocking on her door, Belle pulled down Papa’s looking contraption that allowed her to see the other side of the door without having to open it. Papa had built it for her after he came home from his first fair, saying he worried some stranger might come up to the door while he was away.

Belle was helpless to stop the groan that escaped her as she saw Gaston’s distorted image through the device. But she couldn’t pretend to not be at home; everyone knew her father was going to the fair and Belle always stayed home to watch the house while he was away. So she started to open the door only to find the handle snatched from her as Gaston opened the door the rest of the way.

“Gaston,” she greeted, trying not to sound too alarmed by the way he practically forced himself into her house. “What a...pleasant surprise,” she said, backing up as he swaggered forward.

He was wearing some sort of suit she had never seen before: a deep red coat that was the same color of the leather jerkin he usually wore with a golden vest underneath. The white trousers he wore were actually clean. It was obvious he was dressed up for a reason, and she cringed wondering what that reason might be.

“Isn’t it, though? I’m just full of surprises,” he boasted, strutting across the floor as Belle backed further away.

“You know Belle, there’s not a girl in town who wouldn’t love to be in your shoes. This is the day your dreams come true.”

“What could you possibly know about my dreams, Gaston?” she replied in disbelief.

“Plenty! I know you’ve been dreaming, wondering, hoping that you would one day be a wife to someone as strong and handsome as me. Here, picture this,” he declared before she could react, taking a seat in the chair Belle had recently vacated and put his feet up on the table. He muddy boots landed right on top of her poor book. Belle cringed, but didn’t see a way to extract the book without damaging it further.

“A rustic hunting lodge,” Gaston continued, oblivious to anything besides the picture he had begun to paint for her as he kicked off his boots. The stench of his feet immediately stung Belle’s nose and she pressed the back of her hand to her nose to block the smell as subtly as possible.

“My latest kill roasting over the fire, and my little wife massaging my feet while the little ones play on the floor with the dogs. Oh, we’ll have six or seven,” he added, standing up to emphasize this last point.

“Dogs?” she asked, forcing a smile. It was no longer just the stench of his feet that was making her nauseous.

“No, Belle. Strapping boys, like me!” he declared, pounding a fist to his chest and grinning at her.

“Imagine that,” she said, taking the opportunity to dodge away from Gaston and rescue her poor book. She wiped the mud from its pages and placed it safely back on the shelf where Gaston could not harm it anymore, trying to push away the horrendous image Gaston was laying out for her. A life of servitude, useful only for adding to his family tree.

“And do you know who that little wife would be?” Gaston asked, blocking her into the corner by the bookcase.

“Let me think,” she said, just barely suppressing a grimace.

“You, Belle,” he said and grinned as if she should be happy about this. As if she should be overjoyed that he had chosen her to bear his seven songs and cook the animals he murdered in the forest.

“Gaston, I’m...speechless. I really don’t know what to say,” she said truthfully, dodging out from under Gaston’s arms.

She successfully made it to the front door, pressing her back against it. If he tried anything, she would have an escape route. But when Gaston crossed the room and place his hands against the door, one on either side of her, Belle had another idea.

“Say you’ll marry me,” he suggested, bending closer to her. Belle turned her head, afraid he might try to kiss her, and fumbled for the doorknob.

“I’m very sorry, Gaston. But, I just don’t deserve you.”

As Gaston leaned in closer, his weight concentrated on his hands, Belle turned the knob and threw the door open. Gaston overbalanced as the door he was leaning on disappeared and toppled down her front steps. Belle slammed the door after she heard the satisfying squelch that meant Gaston had landed in the mud puddle that was left from last night’s rains.

She opened the door a moment later only to throw Gaston’s reeking boots out after him. Confident all the doors were locked, Belle drew the curtains on the windows and peeked through the corner of one. She watched Gaston pull himself out of the mud puddle, growl something to poor Lefou, and stomp away. Lefou was left to collect Gaston’s boots and hurry after him.

Belle was about to turn away when she noticed several other people making their way out from behind the tree line back to the village. They were all in their best clothes and, as a band joined the throng of people going back to the village, Belle realized they had been preparing for some sort of special event.

“No,” she said when she realized what Gaston must have done. “Not even he would...” But she trailed off as she realized that planning a wedding before he had even proposed to her would be exactly the sort of thing he would do.

With a frustrated growl, Belle closed the curtain with a particular ferocity and went out the back door. She double checked that Gaston and the others had really gone before storming down the steps, furiously throwing feed at the chickens.

She couldn’t believe Gaston had proposed to her. He wanted her to become Madame Gaston, his little wife, his trophy to show off to the village, to be nothing but his slave and his breeding mare. It was disgusting! How could he even think she would want to marry him? She had given him no sign, no hint that she would want that. Quite the opposite, in fact.

But his ego obviously made him think there was something there that wasn’t, that never would be. She could guarantee that she would never marry Gaston. She wanted so much more than the life Gaston expected of her, the life of a ‘little wife’ to cook and clean and fall in line.

Needing to get away, as far away as she could, Belle abandoned the animals and escaped to her field behind the house. She ran across the grass to its very edge, the chilly late-autumn winds giving her goosebumps but helping her feel less stuck, as is she could fly away on the winds as easily as if she were a bird.

She wanted nothing to do with anything Gaston or this village had to offer. Belle wanted adventure somewhere in the great wide that lay before her, she wanted it so much her heart ached at the very thought. Why couldn’t anyone understand that?

She sunk to the ground in despair, absentmindedly plucking a nearby dandelion, full with its white, fluffy seeds. Idly, she crumpled it in her hand and allowed the seeds to catch in the wind, wishing she could fly away with them. What would it take for her to leave this place?

A panicked whinny broke into her thoughts and Belle whirled to see Philippe galloping towards her. When he turned, Belle could see that he had no rider.

“Where’s Papa?” she asked, standing up and taking hold of his bridle. “Where is he, Philippe?”

Of course, Philippe did not answer, but Belle wasted no time unhitching the wagon from Philippe’s harness. Papa had never made it as far as the fair, his invention still loaded on the cart Philippe had brought with him. So what had happened on the road?

“We have to find him. You have to take me to him,” she said, hoping Philippe might be able to at least show her what route her father had taken. With any luck, she could find some footprints to follow. She was not familiar with tracking, but she wasn’t about to ask the one who could.

Belle paused only to get her cloak to protect her against the evening chill and they were off, past the edge of the forest she had vowed never to set foot in. As she looked around at the trees that seemed to leer at her, a shiver shot its way up her spine. Was it possible Papa had been caught by the wolves? Belle’s heart jumped in her throat at the very idea, but she swallowed and tried to keep herself from thinking the worst.

“Come on, Philippe,” she said as bravely as she could and spurred Philippe into a light canter, keeping her eyes peeled for signs of Papa, and her ears alert for hints of wolves.


	5. Chapter 5

Although she wanted nothing more than to gallop through the forest at top speed as she pictured all the horrible things that might have befallen her father, Belle forced herself to move slowly, keeping a sharp eye out for the path her father might have taken. Philippe was a great help in the search; he was able to take them back to the crossroads and down the overgrown, less traveled path.

“Are you sure?” she asked aloud as they made their slow way down the road. But Philippe did not hesitate. Any remaining doubt was swept from her mind when, in another mile or so through this offbeat road, Belle spotted the imprint of cart wheels in the soft dirt on the side of the road. Belle followed these until they disappeared, and then continued on forward.

Another couple of miles without any new sign was smothering the small hope she had felt as discovering the cart tracks. Perhaps he had not come this way after all. Perhaps he had gone into the forest itself. If that was the case, the chances of her finding him would be nearly nothing.

The light started to fade and Belle’s heart began to race. She had been searching for hours now, traveled miles down this stretch of road, and yet seemed no closer to finding her father. Without the sunlight to help her, it seemed impossible.

“Just a little longer,” she told herself, her whispered words sounding too loud in the increasing shadow of evening.

But there was nothing, no sign, no footprint to give any clue to where her father was. She had to turn back; as it was, she would be stumbling through the dark to get back home. But then Philippe’s hoof struck something hard, a sharp click echoing in her ears. Belle looked up to see that they had come to the edge of a stone path, wide enough for two grand carriages to stand side by side. And ahead of them, a massive iron gate that seemed to have risen up from nowhere. Beyond it, across a long stone bridge, was a monstrous castle rising impossibly high until it seemed to brush the stars in the night sky

“What is this place?” she wondered aloud. She recalled the tale Gaston had told her just that previous spring, about a haunted old castle in the middle of the forest that long ago used to belong to a prince, before everyone died of scarlet fever.

Well, this castle certainly was not in ruins as Gaston claimed, and of course it was not haunted, but she did not doubt this was the same castle the story referenced. How many castles could the forest hide, after all?

The wind changed, gently blowing a stray lock of hair back from Belle’s face, caressing her as if to find out who she was. There must have been some sort of smell in the wind though, for Philippe snorted and reared in fright. Belle was able to stay in the saddle for the initial rise and fall, but slid to the ground to calm him.

“Steady, Philippe,” she cooed, petting his massive cheek. “Steady.”

Her horse bent his head to nuzzle her shoulder as if to apologize. Belle smiled and patted his velvet nose before turning back to examine the castle.

It was even taller now that she had dismounted and she felt her heart skip a beat in a mixture of fright and amazement. But as she turned her vision back down from the soaring towers, she spotted something just inside the gate. Her father’s hat! Without a thought, Belle pushed through the gate and knelt to pick the hat up.

“Papa,” she whispered and looked towards the castle again. A few lights flickered in a couple of windows. Someone was inside. Perhaps it was Papa; he found this place and decided to wait out the storm, to stay the night. That had to be it!

She led Philippe forward, closing the gate behind them lest any wolves get ideas about following them. Belle wanted to run, to call out to her father, but she wasn’t quite sure they would be alone. Perhaps it was just the eery quiet of the forest or the dark throwing shadows in odd directions, but the was an oppressive presence to the castle, as if it were watching her and judging her.

As she reached the large pair of front doors, Belle shivered, from cold or fright she could not tell, and found a convenient pole to the left of the doors to leave Philippe.

“I’ll be back,” she promised as she pet his nose, for her own comfort more than his. “And I’ll bring Papa with me.”

She pushed open one of the front doors as gently as she could, cringing as the hinges creaked.

“Hello?” she called, peering her head around the door and heard her voice echo into a large, empty space. It was too dark to see much further than her own feet, so she dared to push the door open further and step inside. She left the door open as she stepped in, using the faint moonlight to help her see her new surroundings.

“Hello?” she called again, hoping someone might answer her, hoping Papa would answer her. She could tell by the vastness of the hall she found herself in that this place was massive. Even if there was someone in here as the light suggested, they might not ever know she was inside. How would she find Papa in this behemoth of a place?

Room by room, she decided. With no visible lights to guide her into any of the rooms downstairs, Belle slowly made her way up the curving staircase before her, careful not to trip on the stairs in the growing gloom.

“Papa?” she called as she went, hoping he would answer her, that someone might come with a candle and a kind smile and lead her to her father. But as she made her way through seemingly endless halls and even peeked into a few rooms, it became apparent that no one was there.

But what about the lights I saw? she wondered. Papa had to be there, otherwise how did his hat get inside the gate? No, the wolves had left him alone and he was safely tucked away in a corner of the empty castle to wait for morning. Or perhaps he had pressed on by now, leaving his hat behind.

Belle couldn’t be sure of anything, so she could only continue on her search through the castle. Only when she searched every corner of the castle would she move on. She would not leave him behind.

A creak behind her made her jump and she whirled around only to see—nothing. But there was a door she had overlooked, a door that had a soft glow of firelight coming from inside. 

“Papa?”


	6. Chapter 6

He had been pacing the halls, still in turmoil about what to do with the old man in his dungeon, when he caught the scent of another human in his castle. He growled, wishing for nothing but to be left alone. Barely a sighting of a human in years, now two had intruded in his sanctuary in as many days.

Beast made his way towards the scent, intent on either throwing this human out or sending him to join the other in the dungeon. He hadn’t yet decided when he caught sight of the edge of a blue skirt whisking through the doorway that led to the dungeon tower. Beast stopped in his tracks as quickly as if he had run into a wall.

A—a girl? After all this time, a girl had found her way into his castle? It seemed impossible.

Quietly, Beast followed her up the staircase, his heart thudding at what this could possibly mean for him.

——

“Hello? Is someone here?” she asked, stepping through the door in time to see the glow of firelight ascent the narrow, curved staircase she found inside.

“Wait!” she called out and rushed after the person carrying the light. “I’m looking for my father! I—“ she paused as she rounded the corner and reached the top of the staircase, but saw no one in the room beyond. There was nothing up here but a torch on a wall, a candelabra sitting in a small alcove, and rows of doors fitted with heavy iron bars.

“That’s funny,” she said to herself. “I’m sure there was someone.”

She knew that light had been moving up the stairs. Someone had to be carrying it. Perhaps the castle was haunted after all.

Stop it, she scolded herself.

“Is anyone here?” she called, her desperation leaking into her voice.

“Belle?”

“Papa!” she cried in relief until she saw his hands emerge through the bars of one of the doors. She ripped the torch from the wall and rushed to her father, clasping his hands in her own.

“H-how did you find me?” he asked, his face appearing behind the bars as she knelt beside that horrible door. She could see he was trying to smile, but he was so pale and he was shivering.

“Your hands are like ice,” she said, holding his hands to her face in an effort to warm him. How long had he been like this? “We have to get you out of here.”

“Belle, I’m sorry. I took a wrong turn, I went too far in the forest. But, Belle.”

Belle had begun to look for a key to unlock his cell, but turned back to him, surprised at the seriousness she heard in his voice.

“Belle, I want you to leave this place.”

“Who’s done this to you?” she demanded, ignoring his order and clasping his hands tighter.

“There’s no time to explain,” he said, glancing over her shoulder with wide, frightened eyes. She could never remember seeing her father frightened before, not like this. “You must go, now!”

“I won’t leave you!” she began, but a large hand fell on her shoulder and forced her around, sending the torch flying out of her hand and into a small puddle left by the previous night’s rain.

“Run, Belle!” her father cried just a deeper, rougher voice demanded: “What are you doing here?”

Only the moon peeking through a small gap in the roof provided a source of light, not enough for her eyes to adjust to after the bright torchlight. All she could see was a small patch of the floor that was bathed in the moonlight, the rest was darkness.

“Who’s there? Who are you?” Belle asked, trying not to panic as she searched the shadows for the one who had grabbed her so roughly.

“The Master of this castle,” a darker shadow to her right, hidden behind the moonlight, replied. The shadow moved around the moonlight and came to rest against the same wall her father’s cell was on. She followed it, trying to make out the speaker’s image. All she could tell for sure was that it was large.

“I’ve come for my father,” she stated, regaining some of her courage, but it was wavering at best. “Please, let him out. Can’t you see he’s sick?”

“Then he shouldn’t have trespassed here!” the shadow shouted, its voice impossibly deep.

“But he could die!” she shouted back, her heart jumping in her throat at the very thought of it. “Please, I’ll do anything!” She knew she sounded desperate, but her father’s life was at stake. If there was a time for desperation, this was it.

“There’s nothing you can do,” the voice growled, low and quiet.

“There must be some way I can—“ Belle started, but the shadow began to make its way back towards the stairwell.

“Wait!” she cried, reaching towards it as if that would stop it. But it did stop, to her surprise. She paused, knowing what she had to say but not knowing if they would work. She doubted she would get another chance, she had to make it count. Her father coughed weakly in the cell behind her, only strengthening her resolve.

“Take me instead,” she offered willingly, earnestly.

“You,” the voice scoffed but paused and quieted. “You would take his place?”

“Belle, no!” she heard her father plead. Belle heard his words, her heart breaking, but she knew what had to be done.

“If I did, would you let him go?” she asked. There had been too many stories of characters getting into trouble because they had not gotten their deals exactly squared away.

“Yes, but...you must promise to stay here forever,” the shadow said.

Forever? Stay in this dark, nearly-empty castle with this still unknown shadow forever? For her father, she would do anything, but she had to know who her jailor was first.

“Come into the light,” she asked, pleased to hear her voice sound more curious than frightened.

After a long moment, the shadow moved forward as she asked, but immediately Belle regretted her words. A giant, furred paw slid into the shaft of moonlight, shaped like a wolf’s but impossibly larger. Belle froze, her heart barely daring to beat as a leg covered in torn black trousers followed the paw.

The shadow revealed itself entirely in the moonlight and Belle felt her eyes widen as she raised them up the creatures fur-covered body, the purple cloak that covered massive shoulders, the claws that grew from giant furred hands, and finally the creature’s impossible head with fangs and horns. Worst of all, the creature’s all-too-intelligent eyes, their piercing blue simultaneously human and animal. She gasped and turned back to her father’s arms.

“No, Belle,” Papa said, grasping her arms through the bars of his cell. “I won’t let you do this.”

Belle paused only a moment longer, feeling her father’s hands on her arms keeping her in one piece. He had always been there for her, doing his best to see that she was taken care of. Belle couldn’t bear to lose him the way she had lost her mother, as she would if he remained in that cell. It was her turn now to protect him.

She grasped her father’s hand one last time and stood to face the monster who was forcing her to choose to tear apart her world. She stood steady and raised her eyes to meet his.

“You have my word.”

“Done!” the creature agreed quickly and rushed past her to unlock the cell.

Overwhelmed by what she had just done, Belle buried her face in her hands and let herself sink to the floor. But then Papa’s arms were around her once again and she was comforted by the knowledge that he was free, that he would not die in a horrible cell in a monster’s castle.

“Belle, listen to me. I’m old, I’ve lived my life!” her father said, clearly trying to to persuade her to take back her promise. But his words did nothing but reaffirm her actions. She smiled and took his hand to explain that what she had done was for the best, that she would always love him, but he was ripped from her by the creature and dragged away.

“No, wait! Please!” she pleaded, but the creature took no heed. Belle wanted to go after him, to stop in and take her father in her arms, to say one final goodbye. But the sight of the creature’s claws so close to her father gave her pause. That moment gave the monster enough time to drag her father down the stairs, the sound of the slamming door echoing up to her along with the cries of her father calling her name.

Belle rushed to any window in the tower she could find in desperation to catch one last glimpse of her father. She finally found a thin, rectangular slit of a window that overlooked the the stone courtyard just outside the front doors. Through eyes blurred with tears, she watched as the creature dragged her father across the stones and into a horseless carriage, her father all the while calling for her. The carriage rose of its own accord and made its way spider-like across the bridge and into the trees, taking her father with it. Rather than finding it odd that the carriage could move without wheels or horse, Belle collapsed onto the narrow windowsill in tears.

Papa. She would never see Papa again.

——

It was a girl who had snuck up to the dungeon tower, and a beautiful one at that. He was startled by her after he turned her and saw her face, after he realized it was indeed a girl who knelt on the floor of his castle. What if this beautiful girl escaped him? She could be his last chance to break the enchantment over him.

They had made a bargain in the end, a desperate bargain on her part but one that suited him well enough. She was giving up her life for that of her old fool of a father. She was staying with him forever.

But he had not anticipated her request to show himself first. He could have simply denied her request, to throw her father out and make the switch without the painful reminder that he was a monster. But it would be a sign of good faith to respond to her. Besides, the girl should know who she was making her promises to.

As he predicted, her eyes widened in terror as he revealed himself. Unwillingly, he recalled the painful image of the foolish girl who had been lost in the forest with her brothers years ago now. But, unlike that girl, this one did not shake and quiver and shriek. She was frightened, yes, but he could see the determination in her face despite that. And he was infinitely impressed that she was able to look him in the eye to make her vow before turning away. Few could manage that; most of his servants never looked above his shoulders.

As the carriage made its way across the bridge and into the forest, carrying the old man away, Beast turned back to the castle with only one thought in his mind: he had the girl to himself now. Forever.


End file.
